More Than Charming

by JoMarie DeGioia

  Catherine opened her eyes and smiled at him, wincing slightly at the discomfort caused by her sore lip.

  James bent his head and placed a tender kiss on her injury. He gazed at her. “I love you, Catherine,” he said once more. “I’ve loved you for so very long.”

  Her eyes, darkened to violet, stared into his. “For how long, James?” she asked softly.

  He suddenly grinned, recalling he’d asked her nearly the same thing weeks ago. “I believe I fell in love with you at Chester’s wedding,” he said. “When I held you in my arms.”

  Catherine nodded and hugged him, letting out a breath.

  Paul crossed to where Waltham lay on the floor, his body bruised and bloodied from James’s sound beating. “Is he dead?” he asked Chester.

  “No, more’s the pity,” Chester replied.

  Catherine struggled to a sitting position, her eyes wide. She grabbed tightly onto her husband’s arms. “He killed her, James,” she cried. “He killed Joan.”

  James swore softly and looked over at his friends. “Summon a constable,” he said. “There should be someone from the Watch down in the street.” Geoffrey and Chester left together to find the constable. James turned back to Catherine, taking in all of her injuries and the condition of her dress. “Sweetheart, did he . . . ? God, love, did he hurt you?”

  “No, James,” she answered quickly. “He didn’t hurt me in that . . . manner.” She shuddered. “He tried to . . .” she sobbed, biting her lip. “He said I’d lose our baby.”

  “Shh,” James soothed once more, stroking her hair.

  Catherine then gazed up at James. “James, do you remember a young lady from several years ago? One named Beatrice?”

  James thought for a moment, shaking his head slowly. “No, love,” he answered. “I don’t.”

  “She was Waltham’s cousin and he was to marry her, or so he told me,” Catherine went on, her brow wrinkled. “He said you charmed her, James. That you stole her heart from him.”

  James took her hand in his, kissing the frown from her brow. “I remember no such lady, love,” he assured her. “Before I saw you at Chester’s wedding, I had no desire to win any young lady’s heart.”

  Catherine considered him for a moment. “You do have my heart, James,” she said, hugging him once more.

  “Wait, I recall a Lady Beatrice Thornton,” Paul mused. “She died some years back—something about consumption—or so that’s what her family put about.”

  “Waltham said she killed herself,” Catherine said sadly. “She stabbed herself with a knife.”

  “My God!” James exclaimed hugging her close to him. “That bastard probably drove her to it.”

  “I’m not surprised, given what he did to poor Lady Diane,” Paul added.

  “What did he do to Diane?” Catherine said shocked.

  “He attacked her,” Paul said grimly.

  Catherine choked back a cry and leaned into her husband’s strong embrace.

  A constable arrived shortly thereafter, duly shocked at Waltham’s condition. The stout man’s shock soon gave way to anger as he learned of the man’s evil deeds. Holding tightly to James’s hand for strength, Catherine told the constable of Joan, of what Waltham had admitted. With obvious regret over Catherine’s presence in the room, Geoffrey recounted the horrible crimes the man had committed against Diane Plymouth in Westmorland.

  After assuring the gentlemen that he’d keep them apprised of the man’s punishment, the constable gave them permission to leave the dirty little room.

  “Take me home, James,” Catherine pleaded, her hand cupping his cheek.

  James nodded, kissing her palm. Cradling his wife in his arms, he carried her downstairs to Paul’s carriage. He didn’t release her until they arrived at their townhouse.

  “My lord!” Giles exclaimed as he opened the door for his master and mistress. “My lady, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Giles,” she answered wearily.

  The man breathed an audible sigh of relief. “I knew that the viscount would find you, my lady,” he said with a small smile. “He’s a man who loves his wife.”

  Catherine nodded and looked at James once more, her eyes a dark violet.

  James shook his head at the butler, unable to hide his own grin. “Never mind, Giles,” he chuckled. “Please see to a bath for Lady Roberts.”

  The man bowed and turned, leaving them alone in the foyer. James bent his head to Catherine’s, his forehead touching hers.

  “I do love you, Catherine,” he said huskily.

  She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you too, James.”

  He carried her up the stairs to their chamber. Assisting her out of her torn clothing, he waved Annie away and saw to her bath himself. The lady’s maid, after expressing her sincere happiness for her mistress’s well being, left them. James washed Catherine gently, hiding his anger over the bruises that darkened her face and limbs. She winced as he washed the blood from the corner of her mouth.

  “I’m so sorry, Catherine,” he said, his throat tight.

  “It’s all right James,” she said with a smile. “It just stings a bit, that’s all.”

  He nodded and continued his gentle ministrations.

  After her bath, after he patted her dry and ran his fingers through her damp hair, he pulled her nightgown over her head and laid her on the bed. Peeling off his clothes, he settled himself beside her in the big four-poster.

  “We’ll send for Morgan in the morning, Catherine,” he said, embracing her once more.

  “I’m fine, James,” she insisted.

  He gave her a squeeze and closed his eyes. She drifted off to sleep but he knew he wouldn’t find slumber tonight. When he’d heard her scream, when he’d found her in that room with Waltham hurting her so, his heart had nearly stopped. He gave an involuntary shudder at his mind’s wanderings.

  “My God. I nearly lost you,” he whispered against her hair. He held her closer, silent prayers of thanks ringing a litany in his mind.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed, but sometime later Catherine started to struggle in his arms. Her eyes snapped open and she cried out. The sound was sharp and full of terror.

  “Shh, Catherine,” he soothed. “I’m here.”

  She thrashed about, crying, until his soothing voice and touch began to calm her. She came out of her daze. Her eyes focused on his face and a sweet smile of relief curved her lips. “It’s you.”

  He stroked her cheek. “Always.”

  “I need you, James,” she said, staring up at him.

  “Catherine . . .”

  “I need you to love me, James,” she said. “Please. I want to feel you holding me. Loving me.”

  Desire flared in him at her request. He tamped it down and shook his head at her. “No, love,” he said. “I fear I’ll hurt you.”

  She smiled brightly, taking him completely by surprise. “You can’t hurt me, James,” she said simply. “You can’t.”

  He remembered the words, spoken on their wedding night, and grinned. “God, how I love you,” he said, pulling her into his arms. He brought his lips to hers and kissed her gently. Running his hands lovingly over her, he removed the nightgown he’d so carefully put on her. His eyes narrowed as he noted the bite mark on her breast. He kissed the injury, soothing her. His lips moved to her nipple.

  “James . . .” she murmured as his mouth closed over the tender bud.

  He reached down to the curls that shielded her womanhood, gently spreading her legs. She moaned as his finger delved inside.

  “Ah, Catherine,” he rasped, thrilled by her response.

  Catherine arched as he found the hidden nub in the folds of her, arousing her further. “Love me, James,” she urged, her eyes closed tight. “Love me.”

  He kissed her once more, laying his body atop hers. He entered her slowly, clenching his teeth as he struggled to hold on to his control. Passion soon took that control from him as Catherine’s hands clutch
ed at him. His thrusts became deeper, taking her closer and closer to her release. She sobbed his name as her climax took her, her nails digging into his back. With a shout, he joined her in fulfillment.

  “I love you, Catherine,” he said when his breathing slowed.

  She let out a deep sigh of satisfaction and opened her eyes.

  Epilogue

  December 1826

  Catherine sat in the parlor of Leed Manor, her six-month-old baby boy perched comfortably in her lap. Andrew James Bradford was a beautiful baby, his round head already covered with silky black curls. Catherine dropped a kiss on her son’s chubby cheek, urging a happy gurgle from the child’s mouth. She hugged him close and let her mind drift for a moment.

  Much had happened in the months since her rescue from the dank room at the waterfront. Waltham was dead. He was found so in his cell at Newgate Prison before he could stand trial for his foul deeds against both Joan and Diane, let alone for her abduction. The guards insisted the man had killed himself and no one was of a mind to investigate the matter further. Catherine prayed that Joan and Beatrice would be able to find peace with that hateful man gone from God’s earth. Diane Plymouth was on the mend. And with her friends and family more than willing to help her and keep her story safe, she’d no doubt make her reemergence into society when the Season resumed in a few months.

  Catherine kissed the baby once more and shook off her mind’s wanderings. She looked over at her sister-in-law and smiled. Michelle shakily returned her smile, her eyes nervously following Rose as she scampered about the room. The little girl was nearly three years old now and kept her parents and an endless string of nannies on their toes. Even now, as the ladies watched her so closely, the child managed to wiggle her way into the ashbin near the fireplace.

  “Rose!” Michelle exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

  Clicking her tongue, Michelle brushed the ashes from Rose’s hands. The child merely shrugged, a big grin on her sweet face.

  Catherine laughed. “I’m most pleased that Andrew is still content to sit in my lap.”

  Michelle rolled her eyes, finally returning her smile. It was Christmas Eve, and the family was gathered at the manor once again. Paul and Michelle would host a ball the next evening, continuing the tradition begun the previous year. Catherine was quite looking forward to spending the holiday in such familiar company. She happily anticipated the pleasant conversation coupled with the opportunity to twirl about the room held closely in her husband’s arms.

  Paul and James returned from their ride, invigorated from the brisk air. Both the Earl of Talbot and James’s father had ridden with them, the latter nearly himself again. When the older gentlemen went upstairs to clean themselves up, James and Paul entered the parlor in search of their wives. Catherine looked up as James appeared in the doorway of the parlor, a smile curving her lips.

  James returned the expression and crossed to where his wife and child sat. The baby squealed happily and waved his arms at the sight of his father.

  “Hello, love,” he said to Catherine, kissing her lightly.

  “Darling,” she answered, a warm look in her violet eyes.

  He bent down and tickled the baby under his chin, staring into the gray eyes so like his own. “Hello, little mite.” James scooped the baby up in his arms, all but throwing him up into the air. The baby let out a squeal of delight.

  “James!” Catherine chided, shaking her head.

  James laughed and cradled the boy in the crook of his arm. He turned to face her once more. “Did you pass the afternoon in a pleasant manner?”

  “Very,” she returned. “I do so love to see you holding him, James. He’s your very likeness.”

  He caught the moment when her thoughts turned from their child to himself. “Catherine,” he said, his voice a promise.

  When heat flared in her eyes, he knew he’d guessed correctly.

  Paul’s voice broke through their reverie, causing James to straighten and Catherine to blush lightly.

  “Tomorrow’s bash should prove quite enjoyable,” Paul said with a grin. “Elizabeth’s betrothed will be joining us, the poor sod.”

  “Paul!” Michelle admonished. “I like Lord Palmer very much, as do you.”

  “He’s a pleasant fellow,” Paul allowed.

  James and Catherine voiced their agreement to Paul’s assessment of the gentleman. He was a good sort, and quite smitten with Elizabeth who had quite matured since the entire episode with Waltham. She had spent several weeks with Diane and the two had grown closer. It was at Lord Henry’s country estate that she’d met Lord Palmer, a cousin of Diane’s who’d been abroad for several years and had only just returned. From what he’d learned from Catherine, that devil Waltham hadn’t ruined Elizabeth’s chances at her own happy future.

  “It’s a pity Kane and Rebecca can’t join us,” James said.

  “Oh, I received a note from Rebecca just the other day,” Michelle said. “She’s quite large with child now and Kane will scarcely allow her out of the house to walk the grounds.”

  “She must be going mad,” Catherine said in sympathy. “I do look forward to seeing Chester and Constance.”

  “Oh, yes,” Michelle put in. “I wish they were bringing the baby, however. We haven’t seen her since she was but a few weeks old.”

  “She’s grown even prettier, Michelle,” Catherine told her. “She’s the very image of Constance.”

  “That’s a very good thing,” James cut in.

  Catherine swatted his arm, at which he pulled away sharply, jostling the baby. Little Andrew giggled excitedly at the play.

  Paul chuckled and walked over to his wife. “Have you discussed tonight’s repast with the cook, love?” Paul asked. At her nod, he turned back to James and Catherine and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “We’ll be quite stuffed this evening, I tell you.”

  “Ah,” James said with a grin. “If your cook prepares half of what she did last Christmas Eve, I’ll scarcely be able to climb the stairs to our guest room. Why, the lamb was scrumptious. The gravy was thick and—”

  Michelle groaned, stopping James in mid sentence. She held her hand over her mouth and ran from the room, leaving Catherine and James staring after her in alarm. James turned back to Paul, disconcerted to find him wearing a silly smile.

  “Leed, what’s wrong with you?” James asked. “Michelle is obviously ill. Shouldn’t you go and see to her?”

  “She isn’t ill, Roberts,” Paul said easily. “It appears little Rose will have a brother or sister come the summer.”

  “Oh, Paul!” Catherine exclaimed, throwing her arms around her brother. “That’s simply wonderful news!”

  “Yes,” James added. “I daresay what with Rebecca and Michelle on the nest, not to mention our own little addition, we’re well on our way to populating half of England.”

  Michelle returned to the room just in time to overhear James’s comment. “You and Catherine may have the next one, Roberts,” she put in, recovering her good humor. Her eyes darted to where her daughter stood near an ornately-carved side table. “Rose, don’t touch that vase,” she began worriedly. “Rose, put that down. No, no! Don’t—”

  Paul quickly caught the vase from the little girl’s hands before she could drop it to the floor. He set it back on the table and looked down at her.

  “There now, little love,” he said to his daughter. “I fear you’ll drive your mother quite mad. Isn’t it time for your nap?”

  Rose shook her head emphatically. “No nap! No nap!”

  Michelle bent down to hug the child. She shot a meaningful glance at Catherine as she ran her fingers through Rose’s tousled red curls. “It’s time for Andrew to take his nap, sweetheart,” Michelle cajoled. “Perhaps Aunt Catherine will let you go upstairs with her to the nursery?”

  James knew Catherine caught on to Michelle’s ploy when she nodded her assent.

  “Come, Rose,” she said, holding her hand to the child. “Uncle James and I wo
uld much appreciate your help getting Andrew down for his nap.”

  A big smile spread across Rose’s face as she straightened her tiny shoulders. “I’m a big girl, Aunt Catherine,” she insisted. “I’ll help you.”

  James nodded solemnly, hiding his own smile. The little girl kissed her mother and father. Catherine held Rose’s hand as she led her out of the parlor, James and Andrew bringing up the rear.

  They entered the nursery and Rose quickly explained to her nurse that the baby was sorely in need of a nap. “He’s quite done in,” she said with a nod that caused her red curls to bounce.

  The woman nodded sagely and asked the child if perhaps she herself didn’t wish to rest a bit on her bed. Rose placed a noisy kiss on Andrew’s cheek and hopped onto her bed. Placing her thumb in her mouth, she was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

  Smiling, Catherine took the baby from James and laid him in a crib set in the corner of the large room. James followed her and the two of them stared down at their son, quiet for the moment. Catherine reached down and tickled the baby’s belly, at which he smiled up at her winningly. A dimple showed in his little cheek, his mother’s only visible contribution to his looks.

  “My, he’s a handsome little fellow,” James remarked with pride.

  Catherine nodded her agreement. “I daresay he’ll be a charming rogue like his father before him,” she said, leaning over the rail to drop a kiss on his silken curls.

  The baby yawned and closed his eyes, snuggling into the covers. After a moment, James took Catherine’s hand and led her from the room.

  They entered the chamber set aside for their use and James closed the door tightly behind him. He watched Catherine as she walked further into the room.

  “We should ready for tea, husband,” she said, bound for the dressing room.

  Something troubled him. Something Catherine had said in the nursery. “Wait a moment, love,” he said softly.

  Catherine sensed his hesitation and turned toward him. “James, what is it?”

  “Do you see me as a charming rogue, Catherine?”

  Smiling sweetly, she shook her head at him. She returned to him, reaching up to place her hands on his shoulders. “You’re more than charming, James,” she said, removing his jacket. She began to unbutton his waistcoat. “So much more.”